


Once Upon a Dream

by MagicMeg



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background Malec, F/F, modern fairytale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicMeg/pseuds/MagicMeg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To make an example of The Circle, the Clave cursed Clarissa Fairchild so that on her eighteen birthday she would prick her finger on a cursed rose and fall into an eternal sleep – only to be broken by true love’s kiss. To protect her, Jocelyn steals away with her into the Mundane world, cutting her off from any and all magic.</p><p>But curses are fickle, they find a way, they always find a way.</p><p>And that’s how Isabelle Lightwood finds Clary Fray, under a sleeping curse in the middle of Central Park. From that moment on, whenever Isabelle sleeps, she can speak to Clary and as she grows to know her, she becomes more and more determined to wake her up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing my new multi-fic in honour of Clizzy appreciation week!

When Clarissa Fairchild was born a curse was laid upon her by The Clave. To quench any future rebellions, they wanted to make an example of Valentine’s daughter, to show people that the risk was not worth the reward.

The Clave proclaimed to the Shadow World that her crime was being of Morgenstern blood – the honour is in the name and if a family had no honour, it’s corrupted for generations. But for Clary, her crime was simply being born.

Her punishment was a twist on a Mundane fairy-tale which prophesised that on Clary’s eighteen birthday she would prick her finger on a cursed rose which would send her to an eternal sleep – only to be awoken by her true love. The Clave, not believing in such things as ‘true love’ saw this as the ultimate punishment, the ultimate example. Who would dare defy them after this?

Horrified, Jocelyn stole away with her daughter into the Mundane world, protecting Clary from all forms of magic in the hopes that she would never be in danger of coming across a cursed rose.

But surely, Jocelyn should have known, magic is inescapable.

\----

When Clary awoke on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday, she could feel it in her bones. Today was _special_. Excitement thrummed through her as she pushed the covers off and burst out of her bedroom. Her mother, who had been cooking waffles, turned to smile at her daughter, her gaze rich with affection.

“There’s the birthday girl!” Luke said, who had been setting up the table. He moved to scoop her up in to his arms and press a kiss to her forehead. “You excited to be eighteen?”

Clary grinned up at him and said, “I don’t know how to explain it but I just _feel_ like this is the beginning of something so important.”

Luke and Jocelyn’s happy expressions faltered. Luke was quicker to school his features, guiding Clary to sit at the table as Jocelyn handed her a plate of waffles.

“What?” Clary demanded, “What did I say?”

Luke turned to look at Jocelyn, waiting for her to say something.

“I…” her mother faltered, “Well… You know how difficult it is, seeing your only daughter become a woman.”

Clary rolled her eyes, “Seriously, Mom? C’mon, it’s not like I’m going to go off on some magical adventure. I’m just turning eighteen.”

“Seconds ago you were saying that you ‘felt like it was the beginning of something special’,” Jocelyn countered.

“I didn’t mean it like I’m expecting Dumbledore to burst into our apartment and hand me the keys to Hogwarts,” she drawled.

“Pretty sure that’s not the plot of Harry Potter,” a voice from their doorway said.

Leaping from her chair, Clary cried, “Simon! I wasn’t expecting to see you until tonight!”

She threw her arms around his neck and she felt his chuckles vibrating in his chest. “It’s your eighteenth, Clary. Of course I’m going to spend the day with you. I mean it’s the least I can do with you re-designing my truck every-”

“What’s tonight?” Jocelyn interrupted.

Releasing Simon from their hug, Clary explained, “Oh, Simon, Maureen and I were going to go down to Pandemonium tonight – y’know, seeing as I’m eighteen and all.”

“Absolutely not,” she replied, “We’re staying in for a family meal.”

“Mom, come on,” Clary protested, “I’ll be _fine_.”

“Yeah,” Simon agreed, “I won’t let her out of my sights – I promise.”

She continued to shake her head. “Clary, it’s too dangerous. And regardless, you’re too young. You need to be twenty-one to drink.”

Another eye-roll. “That’s what fake IDs are for – Luke, pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Her pseudo-father, who had been leaning on the kitchen counter, watching the argument with a furrowed brow, said, “Don’t worry, cop-mode is off for today.”

Sending him a grateful look she turned back to her mother, “Please, Mom. I’m only going to turn eighteen once.”

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I want to spend the day _with_ you.”

“You’ll spend the _day_ with me just not the night!”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so difficult about this!”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn.”

“Oh! _I’m_ the one being-“

“Clary. Jocelyn. Stop,” Luke interrupted, silencing them. They both crossed their arms, Clary looking annoyed and Jocelyn looking pleading.

“Maybe it would be best if I just meet up with you later?” Simon suggested, already backing towards the front-door. “Just shoot me a text when all this gets figured out, okay?”

“Okay,” she said and once he was out the door she turned back to her mother and said hotly, “Great! Now Simon’s gone. Good job, Mom.”

Before she had time to retaliate Luke interrupted again saying, “Jocelyn, don’t you think you should just _tell_ her.”

“Tell me what?”

Luke sat back, sipping coffee from a mug which said ‘World’s Best Dad’ whilst Jocelyn nibbled nervously on her lip.

“Tell. Me. What?” Clary demanded again.

“Clary, sit down,” her mother finally said.

Nervously, Clary returned to her seat at the table, the untouched waffles still warm. She waited as her mother and Luke settled to sit opposite her.

“This is… a long story,” Jocelyn began, “but the easiest way to start it is by saying that all the legends are true. Vampires, werewolves, fairies, demons – you name it – they’re real.” Clary opened her mouth to protest but Jocelyn continued before she could say anything. “And when you were a baby you were cursed to fall into an enchanted sleep on your eighteenth birthday.”

Jocelyn paused. Clary gaped.

And then she got angry.

“Seriously, Mom? You couldn’t think of a good enough excuse to keep me in the house so you decided to recite to me the plot of Sleeping Beauty? Great. So glad I’m finally experiencing being treated like an adult,” she snapped. She pushed away from the table, abandoning her waffles.

“Clary wait-!” Luke began.

“I don’t want to hear it!” Clary shouted back, already storming towards her room. “You want me to stay inside so much? I will. Just don’t come knocking on my door when you realised you ruined my birthday for no good reason.”

The door slammed behind her.

\----

It was coming up to noon when Jocelyn finally cracked. She had been pacing outside of Clary’s room for ten minutes before she finally, reluctantly, knocked.

“Sweetheart… Please come out. I want to apologise.”

No reply.

Jocelyn had always been told that her own stubbornness would come to bite her in the ass. Her daughter was, and always had been, twice as fierce and stubborn as herself and whilst it made her proud to see the woman Clary had become, in moments like these, she’s painfully aware of how her mother felt raising Jocelyn.

“Clary, I know it’s your birthday and you want to go out with Simon but I wasn’t lying when I said things are more dangerous than you realise,” she insisted.

Still no reply.

“Are you sure she’d even in there?” Luke asked tiredly.

Jocelyn snapped back to stare, wide-eyed, at Luke. “She wouldn’t.”

“Like the kid of Jocelyn and Valentine _wouldn’t_ sneak out of the house.”

She was torn between yelling at Luke for _not saying anything before_ and breaking down the door.

The latter won out.

The door crashed against the wall, revealing Clary’s very empty bedroom.

“Call Magnus. _Now_.”

\----

Clary felt peace settle upon her as she walked through Central Park. Manhattan, as it always was in summer, was sweltering and humid. The sun spun ribbons through the gaps in the leaves and a pleasant breeze wove its way between tree trunks.

She didn’t quite know why she decided to come to Central Park, she just knew she had to be _anywhere_ but home. She found a particularly nice patch of grass and settled down on it, taking out her phone to text Simon to meet her there.

He had just replied saying he was on his way when Clary noticed the flowers. They were just across the path adjacent to her, bunched together at the roots of an old oak tree. It was a beautiful, colourful assortment of summer flowers, and Clary itched to draw them.

She hadn’t the foresight to bring her sketchpad so she decided to walk over to them to take a picture so she could draw them later. Leaning over them, with her tongue sticking out in concentration, she took the photo. The colours didn’t pop in the picture the way they did in real life and Clary felt irritation climb up her skin.

It was her birthday and _nothing_ was going right.

So, she decided to start plucking different flowers from the grass. She was pretty sure she wasn’t allowed to do that, but she was also fairly sure she didn’t care. If this was the only way of making sure she replicated the rich colours of the flowers, then yes, she would yank them right from their soil home.

She had collected a fairly balanced assortment of flowers when she noticed a bright red rose poking up from the back. Grinning, she leant over and wrapped her fingers around it and-

“Ow. Fuck.” Clary withdrew her hand sharply and examined it, finding a small pin-prick on her ring finger. “Damn thorns.”

Determined to retrieve the rose, she shook off her pain and went to grab it again when suddenly she was hit with an odd feeling.

It was like a head-rush but all over her body, her skin tingled and the place where the thorn had pricked her throbbed painfully. Black dots swam across her vision and before she could even brace herself for impact, she was collapsing onto the flowers and falling unconscious.

\----

There were a hundred things (probably more) that Isabelle would have rather been doing than being on patrol. It was the first day in weeks that the weather in New York hadn’t been unbearable. The streets and parks were overflowing with people who were attempting to savour the breeze which had arrived with dawn.

Alec had insisted that this only made patrol even more important as there were more people at risk. But all Isabelle could hear in her head was ‘ _buzzkill_ ’.

(Not to mention, he had assigned himself the area which covered Magnus’ apartment, the little sneak.)

Fortunately, Isabelle had Central Park, so she could at least _pretend_ that she was having a good day. She walked down the paths, and in and out of trees, keeping alert and searching for any unusual activity. She was just coming to the end of her patience when she heard a shout-

“Someone please help!”

Immediately she was galvanised into action, sprinting towards the origin of the sound. When she finally arrived, she found a man and woman around her age. The man, sporting glasses, was kneeling beside a red-haired woman who, for all intents and purposes seemed unconscious.

“What’s wrong?” Isabelle demanded, coming to settle on the other side of her.

He seemed to jump, as if he didn’t expect anyone to _actually_ help. “I-I don’t know,” he stammered once he got over his initial shock, “She texted me to meet her here but when I got here she was unconscious and she won’t wake up.”

Isabelle shifted her gaze to the woman in question. Her hair spilled out around her and her mouth was slightly parted. Her shoulders and nose were dotted with freckles and her eyelashes fanned against her cheeks. Isabelle gently lifted her wrist and was relieved to find a steady pulse – a face that pretty would have been a sore loss.

This was probably a mundane issue and Isabelle could already hear Alec chastising her for getting involved. But the man looked so pleading, and she so vulnerable – how could Isabelle not _try_ to help?

Isabelle began to look around, to see if there were any signs to what could have happened to her when she spotted the flowers that she was lying on.

They seemed odd. They reminded her of the flowers from the Seelie Realm, or at least, sort of. There was clearly _something_ magical about them. She knelt beside them and looked closer – and then she noticed what the woman had clutched in her hand.

A crimson rose.

Isabelle sucked in a breath. Surely it wasn’t… She had always assumed that it was simply an old wives tale told to scare the new generation of Shadowhunters into obedience.

Nonetheless, she whipped out her phone and called her brother.

Alec’s response was immediate.

“What’s wrong?”

“You remember the stories Mom used to tell us about Valentine’s daughter?” she asked, trying to ignore the glasses-man who was looking increasingly worried.

“Yes. Why?”

“I think I found her.”

\----

“I didn’t think the stories were true.”

It was Jace who said this, hovering behind Isabelle as she sat next to Valentine’s daughter, who slept peacefully on one of the Institute’s infirmary beds – as if she didn’t know she’d been cursed for her parents’ mistakes.

“I didn’t either,” she replied, her lab coat becoming stifling with all the people milling about the infirmary.

“Do you think you can wake her up?” Jace asked.

“There is no waking her up,” said Maryse, cutting off Isabelle’s response. “The curse stated that only true love’s kiss could wake her up and we all know that doesn’t exist.”

‘ _Just because your marriage with Dad is a mess_ ,’ Isabelle thought bitterly, out-loud she asked her mother, “What do we tell Simon then?”

Simon, the apparent best friend, was currently sitting outside the infirmary, in a state of absolute panic. He clearly loved her very much and Isabelle’s heart ached at the thought of telling him that her prospects seemed bleak.

“We tell the mundane to go find Jocelyn Fairchild and bring her here. I suspect she’ll want to know where her daughter is,” Maryse said.

“Okay,” Jace agreed, “I can go with him.”

Maryse flashed him a proud smile as he left the infirmary and Isabelle turned her gaze from her patient to her mother. “I want to try and wake her. I don’t care what the curse says, I want to try regardless.”

She frowned at Isabelle’s words, “Don’t you think that will distract you from your duties?”

“I won’t let it,” she promised, “Plus, last week Lydia offered to take some of my patrol slots so I can use that free time to work on her.”

“Is Clarissa Morgenstern really worth your valuable time, Isabelle?” As per usual, Maryse’s tone was condescending.

“I believe that Simon said she goes by Clary Fray,” Isabelle corrected, “And yes, if I can save her, it’ll be more than worth my time.”

“The Clave will not approve.”

Isabelle lifted her chin, facing off against her mother. “Well the Clave is convinced that the only way to wake her is by true love’s kiss. So I’m sure they’ll have nothing to worry about.”

\----

Isabelle spent the rest of the day with Clary, gingerly taking blood samples and searching through it for traces of detectable magic.

By the time Jocelyn Fairchild burst through the infirmary doors, Isabelle was making notes on what she’d discovered so far (that being very little). She jumped at the sudden entrance but quickly recovered, standing to offer her hand as she introduced herself, “Isabelle Lightwood. I’m taking care of Clary.”

Jocelyn was undeniably Clary’s mother – the same hair, the same mouth. “How is she?” Jocelyn asked, rushing to the bedside where Clary slept.

“Her condition is stable; it hasn’t changed since I found her in the park.”

“ _You_ found her?” Isabelle nodded. The corners of Jocelyn’s mouth tugged, the ghost of a disapproving frown on her lips. “If only Magnus had been quick enough,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

“You mean Magnus Bane?” Isabelle inquired.

“Yes,” Jocelyn said, almost reluctantly, as if Isabelle wasn’t to be trusted with that information, “He’s a family friend.”

“We should bring him in,” Isabelle mused, “A warlock who knows the family well would have a stronger ability to search her for magic.”

“Magnus isn’t just some ‘warlock’ you can bring in when it suits you,” Jocelyn snapped.

Isabelle raised an eyebrow. “I’m aware of that,” she replied coolly, “However, since he’s dating my brother, he has on many occasions insisted that we call him whenever we need him.”

Looking taken aback, Jocelyn said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I… It’s been a long day.”

“I promise I’ll do everything in my power to save her,” Isabelle assured her.

“Typical Shadowhunter,” Jocelyn scoffed, “Don’t you know that your power isn’t infinite? The Clave purposely made this curse so that it _can’t_ be broken.”

“Actually, I’m fully aware of the limitations of our race. That’s why I’m almost certain that The Clave is wrong. Undoubtedly they had to work with a Downworlder to create this curse, so I’m willing to bet that the Downworlder created a loophole just to get back at The Clave,” Isabelle said, “So, what the plan is, I find who created this curse and I get them to talk.”

Jocelyn turned away from Isabelle, shaking her head. “I tried to protect her from all this. This _world_. It’s all so toxic and bitter. And I got her landed in the crux of it with my mistakes.”

Isabelle hesitated, not sure how to handle this woman who was so filled with bitterness and distrust for Shadowhunters (despite being one herself). “The Clave is also at fault. They should have never cursed a child – it’s completely barbaric.”

“If they see you searching for a cure, they’ll try to stop you,” Jocelyn warned.

Isabelle smirked, “You underestimate The Clave’s hubris. They’ll never imagine that there could possibly be a cure other than true love’s kiss. I’ll be fine.”

“Why are you doing this for her?”

“I’ve spent my life saving people, it’s what I do,” she explained with a shrug.

Jocelyn nodded. “Call Magnus in then. And Luke Garroway – leader of the New York Werewolf Pack. He’s worried sick.”

Isabelle nodded, “Of course. I’ll be right on it.” Then she left the infirmary, leaving Jocelyn to be alone with her daughter.

\----

When she finally collapsed into bed that night, Isabelle was shattered. With the arrival of Clary and her extended family (which somehow included the glasses-wearing mundane), the Institute was in chaos.

Maryse had nearly burst a blood-vessel upon seeing a werewolf in the Institute, but between that and Magnus greeting Alec with a kiss, she had decided to go to bed early – leaving the chaos in the hands of her children.

It took lots of arguing, but they managed to get thing settled. Luke had said that he would return to the Fray loft, seeing as he still had to work full-time as a cop, and had convinced Simon to go home too, promising that he would drive Simon to the Institute every day. But Jocelyn decided to stay, insisting that it was her fault that Clary was in this situation, so she wouldn’t leave until it was remedied.

(Isabelle had seen Alec readying up to say, “ _Well that might be never.”_ but fortunately Magnus had decided to announce that Alec and himself were going on a walk, and not to wait up for them.)

Jace, upon seeing how shattered Isabelle was, said he would help Jocelyn find a place to sleep which was near the infirmary.  

Isabelle shot him a grateful smile and had trudged down the hallways to her room. She quickly washed off her makeup, brushed her teeth, threw on some PJs and sank in to her bed.

‘ _Just when things were starting to get boring around here,’_ Isabelle thought to herself, tiredly, curling up under the covers and drifting asleep.

\----

When Clary opened her eyes again, everything was a little foggy and she wasn’t quite sure where she was.

She was standing in a large room but any detail past that seem impossible to focus on. Her skin prickled with fear.

This wasn’t right.

“Hello?!” she called, panic slowly crawling up her throat. “Is anyone there?!”

Her cries echoed around the room, drumming in her ears so painfully that she had to clamp her hands against her head and her knees buckled. Her head swam and honestly she should have felt the floor against her knees but she didn’t. She just knew that she was now kneeling.

Her vision became foggier and her echoes became louder – unbearably loud.

“Clary.” A voice cut through the confusion – a piercing voice which brought her all back into focus. A woman with long dark hair and concerned eyes was crouched down in front of her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Isabelle. I found you at the park. I guess that’s why our subconscious are connected.” Her voice was soothing, and what she was saying sounded important but Clary was finding it hard to concentrate on facts.

“The park…” Distantly Clary remembered – her birthday, the fight with her mother, the park, the rose… “What happened to me? Am I… dead?”

Isabelle shook her head. “No, it’s a long story.”

“Tell me,” Clary insisted.

“Well, the best place to start off is by telling you that all the legends are true.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that Jocelyn is kind of an asshole to Isabelle. She’s very distrustful of Shadowhunters, especially a Lightwood, after her child got cursed and the Lightwoods just got given the NY Institute – which is y’know understandable. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed that! If you did, let me know in the comments or by giving this fic kudos (or y'know, both). 
> 
> Come talk to me on [ my tumblr ](http://queenmeg.tumblr.com/)


	2. Miss Optimistic

Clary felt the guilt hit her like a brick wall. “So my mom was telling the truth.”

Isabelle’s eyes, which had been watching her carefully throughout her whole explanation, was gentle when she said, “You couldn’t have known. You were raised a mundane – it would have been surprising if you actually believed her.”

Her gaze became too heavy, Clary had to drop hers and immediately the fogginess returned. “Do you… Do you think I would be okay if I had just listened to her?”

“I don’t think so,” she replied, her tone thoughtful “I think the curse would have found you regardless. I would be pretty shocked if hiding in your room could protect you from a curse.”

Clary let out a short laugh. The fuzziness in her brain had become too much so she looked at Isabelle again – everything quietened. “I think you’re my link to the real world,” Clary told her, “Whenever I look away from you, I have this out of body experience. You bring me back.”

Isabelle nodded, taking it in. “That would make sense. I guess when I’m sleeping I can anchor you, and bring you back from whatever unconscious state you’re in due to the curse.”

“So when you wake up… What happens to me?” Clary asked.

“I don’t know. Return to whatever state you were in before I went to sleep?”

Clary frowned, “I can’t remember what I was doing then. One minute I was in Central Park and the next I’m with you.”

“At least you’re not suffering,” Isabelle said softly. Clary silently agreed. “Magnus is coming back tomorrow to examine you,” she told Clary, “He’s the one that your mom asked to make sure you forget any contact with the Shadow World. We reckon that because he’s familiar with your mind, he’ll be able to delve in the deepest to try and figure out who cursed you.”

Clary nodded. Then she said, “I feel pretty helpless.”

Isabelle reached out, brushing some of hair aside. It was as if the touch of her fingers was taking her worry away. “I promise I’m going to wake you up, Clary. I swear by the Angel, I’ll save you.”

She believed her. She barely knew Isabelle, but she believed her.

“Thank you, Isabelle.”

“Call me, Izzy.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “I will.”

Clary blinked. Isabelle was gone. Her mind exploded into white noise. And then everything was dark.

\----

Isabelle woke up with a start, gasping loudly.

“Clary?!”

She was in her bedroom in the Institute, sweat was forming on the back of her neck. Isabelle flew out of bed and down the corridors of the Institute, not caring if she was still in pyjamas. She burst into the infirmary and her gaze immediately zeroed on Clary, still sleeping soundly.

She walked over to her and sat in the chair beside her bed.

‘ _Was that real? Or was it just my imagination?_ ’ Isabelle asked herself. The details of her dream with Clary was razor sharp, and not at all like the sluggish memories of ordinary dream. She could recall the hazel-green of her eyes and her _voice_ – surely those were things she couldn’t imagine? She had never seen Clary’s eyes or heard her speak so perhaps…

“Isabelle?”

She turned and saw Alec at the doorway, watching her with concern. She almost never denied herself the opportunity of wearing her lab-coat so she supposed her pyjamas were a worrying sight. She smiled bleakly at him. “The weirdest thing happened to me, Alec.”

“What happened?” he asked her, pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

“When I went to sleep last night, I became connected to Clary. We spoke about what happened and I explained to her the Shadow World, Valentine and her curse,” she told him, “It was so strange because it didn’t _feel_ like an ordinary dream. I can remember everything so clearly. If I can just get an audio clip of her voice, I can make sure if it was real or not.”

Alec’s brow furrowed and he cast his gaze over to the sleeping Shadowhunter. “That _is_ strange. Do you think it’s because you were the first Shadowhunter to come in contact with her after the curse was enacted?”

Isabelle shrugged. “Beats me. You’re the one with a warlock boyfriend, not me.”

“Seelie’s a pretty well versed in magic,” Alec countered.

She shook her head, “I broke up with Meliorn two months ago, _hermano_.”

“I was just making sure you hadn’t secretly gotten back together with him,” Alec said, smirking.

Sending him a pointed look she asked him, “Would I ever lie to you?”

He raised his eyebrows, “Was that a serious question, Iz?”

“Whatever,” she replied, “It’s clear you don’t trust me to tell you things - even though _you’re_ the secretive one.”

“Hey!” Alec protested, “I tell you things!”

“Are you forgetting the fact that you tried to hide a hickey from Magnus by saying that you fell – _on your neck_ ,” she said, “All the meanwhile you were pretending that you were totally not dating him even though every time he walked into a room you got literal heart eyes.”

“Alright,” Alec cut her off, a pink tinge in his cheeks, “Point made. So what’s the plan for the Fairchild girl?”

Isabelle’s gaze drifted back to Clary. Something tugged on her heart seeing Clary now that she knew what she was like awake. “The details aren’t concrete,” she said, “But we’re starting with trying to figure out _who_ cast the curse, then we might be able to figure out how to reverse it.”

Her brother nodded, “Sounds like a good start.” His phone pinged and he quickly looked down to check it. “Magnus wants to know what time he should come to the Institute.”

“Whatever time is good for him,” Isabelle said and Alec immediately typed out a reply. “I reckon Clary is going to have a lot of visitors today so Magnus will give me a good excuse to kick everyone out.”

A playful grin ghosted across Alec’s lips, “I’m sure Magnus will be more than happy to do the honours.”

She huffed out a laugh, “Oh I’m sure.”

“You should probably get dressed though,” Alec teased.

“Shut up.”

\----

When Isabelle returned to the infirmary, in her gear with a full face of make-up, Jocelyn was sitting by her daughter’s bedside. She turned when she entered and said, “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Isabelle replied, going to the other side of Clary to check her vitals. “Magnus should be coming over soon.”

Jocelyn nodded, “That’s good.”

“Ms Fairchild-“

“Jocelyn will do.”

“Jocelyn, would you have any videos of Clary so that I can hear her voice?” Isabelle inquired.

Looking suspicious, Jocelyn asked, “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I believe that my subconscious has been connected to Clary’s – last night when I went to sleep I spoke with her and it didn’t feel like an ordinary dream. Clary theorised that I might be her anchor to the real world. But to verify that it wasn’t just a dream-“

“You need to hear her voice,” she concluded. There was a pause before she said, “I’ll ask Simon. He should have something for you.”

Isabelle thanked her, and a silence fell between them. Before Isabelle could stop herself she said, “We’re not all like the Clave, you know. You can trust us here.”

Jocelyn, who had been tenderly brushing some of Clary’s hair aside, turned to Isabelle with a wry smile, “I can tell you’re not like most Shadowhunters and your brother dating Magnus is certainly a refreshing change but you do not excuse what the Clave has done, and equally what the Circle did. So, I hope you understand that whilst I’ll trust _you_ with my daughter, I will never trust Shadowhunters. And ultimately, the Clave is who you answer to.”

“I won’t let them touch Clary,” Isabelle insisted, “She’s my patient and she’s put her trust in me to help her.”

Before the older woman could respond, Magnus waltzed into the Infirmary. “Good morning, Nephilim,” he sung, “How is biscuit?”

Isabelle explained what happened the night before and Magnus raised his eyebrows. “Interesting,” he hummed, “I wonder if that is part of the loophole you theorised yesterday.”

“Could be,” she said, “It’ll undoubtedly help us save her if we have access to her mind.”

“Mhmm,” Magnus mused, heading over towards Clary’s sleeping form, “So shall I scan her for traces of magic?”

“If you would be so kind,” Isabelle said, smiling.

He winked at her and said, “Will do, Dr Lightwood.” And with that he focused his attention on Clary, spreading out his fingers and letting blue magic softly hum around her. His eyes fell closed whilst Isabelle and Jocelyn watched closely.

After a few minutes, Magnus let out a frustrated huff and dropped his hands, turning back to face the two women. “Whoever made this was sneaky. The curse must be imbedded into her being because I can’t separate the curse from her without completely tearing her apart.”

Isabelle nodded slowly whilst Jocelyn sank further back into her seat.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised.

“Don’t,” Isabelle told him, “Thank you for coming today, I know Alec can sort out whatever payment is necessary.”

Magnus rolled his eyes, “The day I allow Alec to accept payment from me is a very grim day indeed. He’d look far too pleased with himself.”

“Then I owe you a favour,” Isabelle insisted.

He tapped his finger on his chin, pretending to think about it. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, Miss Lightwood.”

“Wasn’t I ‘Dr Lightwood’ earlier?” she asked him, an eyebrow raised.

He smirked, “Of course, my apologies, Dr Lightwood. I should get back to your brother, I promised him lunch.”

“Have fun,” Isabelle said after him, a smile playing on her lips.

Once he was gone, Jocelyn said, “Now what?”

“Now…” she began slowly, “I look through some Institute files that I shouldn’t have access to.”

\----

Before Isabelle even got a chance to get to the main computers, Maryse swept in and sent Isabelle out with Jace on a mission – deciding that Isabelle had spent enough time tending to ‘the Fairchild girl’.

It was late afternoon before they got back to the Institute and as soon as Isabelle and Jace entered, Simon burst around a corner and said, “I’ve got the video for you.”

Covered in ichor and grime, Isabelle blinked, not quite sure what he was talking about.

“The video of Clary,” Simon elaborated, “You told Jocelyn that you think you spoke to her in your dreams last night?”

“Oh! Of course! Show me it,” Isabelle told him as he pulled out his phone.

He shuffled up next to her and held his phone towards her to show her the screen. It was a video of Simon jumping out and scaring Clary. She let out a shriek and yelled, “Not funny, Simon!”

Isabelle’s heart panged. “So it _was_ Clary I was speaking to,” she said softly.

Simon, who had been watching her reaction intensely, seemed to be cheered at this news. “So if there was anything I wanted to tell her… you could say it?” he asked.

She turned to smile at him, “Of course. Is there anything that you want me to say tonight?”

“Only that I love her and I’m here for her,” Simon said, his face set with determination. Isabelle felt a fondness for his mundane grow in her chest – he could make a good Shadowhunter.

\----

“She’s pretty.”

“Jace, don’t be a creep,” Isabelle said with a sigh.

In lieu of a response he rolled his eyes.

“You know, just because I’m into women doesn’t mean I want to have gossiping sessions with you about them,” she said, cranky after a long day. That, and the fact that she was very unsuccessfully hacking into the Institute’s mainframe.

“What’s she like?” Jace asked, interrupting her concentration again.

Isabelle paused. “That’s a difficult question to answer.”

“I’m not expecting a paragraph, Izzy. Just y’know ‘oh she’s cool’ or whatever.”

She shrugged. “Feels a bit like over-simplifying her. I feel that she would much prefer to make an impression on her own.”

“Already defending her? You must like her,” Jace teased.

Another sigh. “I defend everyone, Jace. It’s kinda what Shadowhunters do.”

“Sure, sure,” he drawled, “Just don’t fall in love with her anything.”

Isabelle didn’t warrant this with a response. So he continued, clearly enjoying the fact that he was annoying her.

“Or do, whatever. It might actually be useful if she’s your true love – then you can just kiss her awake!”

“We don’t even know if she likes women, Jace,” Isabelle told him, trying to be patient and not give him the reaction he wanted.

“You can ask the Mundie.”

“I’m not asking Simon the sexuality his currently-cursed best friend. Also, I’m pretty sure he’s in love with her, so I don’t think it would go down all that well,” she snapped.

“I’ve never known Isabelle Lightwood to step down from a challenge,” Jace taunted, egging her on.

“Y’know what, Wayland?” she said, turning away from the computers to face him, “I’m trying really hard right now to save this girl – who, by the way, I have spoken to once. So I would appreciate it if you would leave me too it.”

Jace simply smirked, holding up his hands. “Alright, alright,” he conceded, “I’ll let you get on with your illegal activity.”

“Thank you,” she said before turning back to her work station.

“But make sure not to stay up all night – you wouldn’t want to miss your date with Clary.”

Isabelle threw a book at him.

\----

The night was deepening and Isabelle’s tiredness was growing on her – but she still sat in front of the bright screens of the Institute. She wanted to be able to come back to Clary with _something_ but all she could find was the notices that were sent out once Jocelyn had disappeared with her child.

Isabelle was convinced that the New York Institute would know more than its computers were letting on. Perhaps the files on the enactment of Clary’s curse were never transferred to the electronic database – to keep that piece of Clave history out of people’s memories, or to stop others repeating the curse.

Either way, it meant that Isabelle wasn’t going to find anything more that evening. Defeat weighed heavy on Isabelle’s shoulders as she got ready to go to sleep. She could already imagine Clary’s disappointment and Isabelle itched with nerves.

\----

When the blackness disappeared again Clary could feel that a long time had passed – even if she hadn’t experienced it. Isabelle was sitting, crossed-legged, in front of her and she looked tired.

“Simon says hi,” Isabelle told her, a faint smile on her lips.

Clary felt herself smiling back, comforted by the thought that Simon was okay and near her.

“He also told me to tell you that he loves you and he’s going to be here for you,” she continued.

At this, her heart tightened. “Just don’t let him worry himself to death – because he will,” Clary warned her and Isabelle chuckled, though it sounded empty. “Are you okay?”

Isabelle dropped her gaze from Clary and she felt the edges of her vision go blurry. “I didn’t make as much progress as I should have today,” she said, her voice quiet, as if she was waiting for Clary to get upset at her.

“It’s only been one day, Izzy. I wasn’t expecting you to cure me overnight,” she assured her, trying to make her voice as sincere as possible.

She still didn’t look up. Instead, she said, “My mom hates that nickname ‘Izzy’. She thinks that it ruins a perfectly pretty name,” Isabelle said, her tone both joking and bitter.

Clary thought that Isabelle was beautiful enough to make any name pretty. “Well, Isabelle _is_ a pretty name but I think Izzy is more _you_. It’s what makes it suit you.”

Isabelle finally raised her gaze, piercing Clary with an inquisitive look and Clary was desperate to know what was going on in her head. “You hardly know me, Clary,” she said, but it didn’t sound defensive.

She shrugged. “You don’t know me either but yet you’ve thrown all your efforts into curing me of this curse – I reckon that gives me a good insight into your personality.”

Shaking her head, she explained to Clary, “It’s just what Shadowhunters do. We protect.”

“I’ll admit, I don’t know much about Shadowhunters, but seeing as that Clave thing _cursed_ me – I reckon they’re not all like you.”

Isabelle smirked at this but made no further comment, instead she changed the subject by asking, “So what happened to you when I was gone today? Anything different than the first time?”

“Not much different,” she told her, “Only this time I was aware that time had passed.”

“Hm,” she hummed, “I wonder if that’s because the first time you were forcibly knocked out or our consciousness hadn’t been connected at that point.”

Clary shrugged, “I couldn’t tell you.”

Another smirk from Isabelle and Clary was enjoying the way it looked on her lips. “I’m not much wiser on the subject, I’m just better at hiding when I’m unsure.”

Clary raised her eyebrows, “Was that an insult?”

She shook her head, her smirk growing into a grin, “Definitely not. Your blunt honesty reminds me of my brother, it’s a good trait.”

“Sounds like I’d probably bump heads with your brother then.”

Isabelle laughed, “I would love to see you interact with Alec.”

“I hope that I do one day,” Clary said.

She sobered up immediately, fixing Clary with another one of her piercing gazes. “You will.”

Clary felt a shiver run through her at the intensity of her expression. “I don’t doubt you,” Clary told her.

Isabelle smiled and a happy silence fell between them. Clary wondered how comfortable she would become in silence with Isabelle – the woman who would be her only companion for the days, or weeks, or months to come. It wasn’t like Isabelle was a bad companion to have; she was warm, welcoming, smart and easy on the eyes.

But Clary missed her family. She missed her mother’s hugs, Luke’s easy humour and Simon’s Star Wars jokes. Physically, they were so close to her yet mentally they were miles away. All she had now was Isabelle.

“Can you tell my family something?” Clary asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Of course.”

“Can you tell them that I miss them?”

Isabelle nodded slowly but firmly. “I’ll tell them when I see them tomorrow.”

The silence between them was now heavy, loaded with emotion. As Isabelle felt responsibility rest on her shoulders, Clary felt more helpless than before – and even though she was still looking at Isabelle, her mind was feeling fuzzy.

“Clary, are you okay?” she asked.

She shook her head. Everything was beginning to sway. She tried to talk but it was like being trapped in those dreams where none of your body parts obey you – and Clary realised grimly, that this _was_ a dream.

Warm hands clamped down over hers and Clary felt the room snap back into focus. Isabelle’s eyes were staring at hers, concerned and slightly frightened (though the fear was better masked).

“What just happened?” Isabelle demanded, her voice gentle and soothing.

“I…I don’t- I think… I think my emotions just got a bit overwhelming,” Clary stammered, still feeling slightly light-headed.

“Tell me exactly what you were thinking about.” Isabelle was drawing circles with her thumb along Clary’s hands and she wondered if that was more distracting than her slip out of reality.

With a heavy sigh she said, “I was thinking about how useless I feel and how my family is so close yet so far.”

Isabelle titled her head. “So you were feeling lonely – or in other words; disconnected.”

“Right,” Clary breathed out, realising what Isabelle meant, “So if I feel alone, my connection with you weakens.”

“I can’t think of any other explanation,” Isabelle admitted.

“So my job is to basically not feel sorry for myself, despite the fact that I’ve been cursed into an eternal sleep?” Clary asked with clear irritation. She saw Isabelle deflate at Clary’s tone and she knew it was unfair to take out her frustration on her. “I’m sorry,” she said meekly.

“No, don’t be,” Isabelle insisted, “Clearly, bottling up your emotions is bad for our connection. So whatever you’re feeling, tell me - even if you think it’ll upset me. It’s the best way to maintain our connection if you think you trust me with these things.”

“Okay,” she agreed, “that sounds like a better plan than just being Miss Optimistic.” She paused. “And being honest with you is the least I can do when you’re out there trying to save me and everything.”

Isabelle rolled her eyes. “I _told_ you, Clary. It’s what I do.”

“And I’m grateful regardless – so accept my praise,” Clary teased, noticing the way Isabelle’s lips twitched as she threatened to grin.

“I suppose it’s the least I can do,” Isabelle hummed.

Clary smiled.

She supposed being cursed could be worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapter is so short! I suddenly got very ill mid-way but I wanted to post something despite it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Talk to me on[ my tumblr ](http://queenmeg.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Paintbrush and Canvas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! I was away for two weeks in America and forgot to bring my copy of this chapter with me so I couldn't finish editing :(
> 
> On a positive note, I want to thank you all for all your lovely comments and support! It means the world <3

“Iz, you realise you’re _not_ a doctor right?” Alec said, rather rudely, as Isabelle checked over Clary the following morning.

She sent him a pointed look. “I’m aware, thank you. However, my medical knowledge far exceeds the average person’s so I believe I’m more than capable of handling her.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Someone’s cranky.”

Isabelle gave him another look, but this time she kept her mouth firmly shut – lest she prove him right.

“I got you off the hook with mom, by the way,” Alec told her, “She was adamant that you go on patrol today but I convinced her that Lydia was more than happy to help out.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, “I’m getting the feeling that Mom doesn’t want me to wake Clary up.”

He shrugged. “It does go against the Clave’s wishes. I can see where she’s coming from,” he replied, and before she could open her mouth to argue, he added, “Not that she’s right. It’s just that I know why she’s unhappy with the arrangement.”

“Well, you had to get your love for rules from somewhere,” Isabelle said and he rolled his eyes. “But thank you, I needed some freedom from Mom. Especially since I’m going to be diving into the storage rooms.”

“Which we’re expressly forbidden from entering,” Alec pointed out, knowing full well that it wasn’t a concern for Isabelle.

Waving him off she said, “I won’t get caught, don’t worry.”

“Famous last words,” he chimed.

\----

The trip down to the Institute’s storage rooms was winding and quiet. The majority of Shadowhunters were either on missions or in the main rooms which formed a semi-circle around the entrance. Since they had updated to use high-tech software, there wasn’t much use for the storage rooms as all information had been made electronic (or at least, all of it was _meant_ to be). That left the storage rooms as tall rows of boxes, containing files and artefacts which the Clave didn’t deem important enough to take to Idris.

Isabelle was well aware that searching for any information on who cursed Clary would probably take her the whole day – if not longer. But it was hardly a challenge compared to her usual of fighting off demons.

So she buckled down and begun sifting through boxes, trying to decipher the loose form of organisation the boxes seemed to be in. Eventually, she found her way to the right date, around the time of the uprising and Clary’s birth.

There were stacks upon stacks of diary entries and coded messages, conveying messages about the Circle and how to stop them. Isabelle clenched her jaw at the mention of ‘Lightwood’ – knowing that it was in relation to her parent’s dark past. The only reason she knew they had been in the Circle was due to Lydia, and the wound of finding out from another person still stung, a full year later.

Time trickled by as Isabelle went through trial reports of ex-Circle members and the detailed discussions of their punishments. She jolted at the mention of Alec, whom the Lightwood’s lawyer had used to justify her parents’ lenient punishment.

All the information of the trials was before her in brilliant detail yet there was no mention of Jocelyn Morgenstern, or even Clary.

Isabelle was close to throwing in the towel when she noticed a post-it note which was stuck on the inside of one of the boxes which had held the trial reports.

The writing was faded and smudged – only a few words were legible.

‘Fair…. trial over … get An…. Hart’

Isabelle felt her breath catch.

This was it.

It was about Clary and the Fairchild trial. And whoever this ‘An Hart’ person was, they had the answers Isabelle needed.

But that wasn’t all that was important… The handwriting on the post-it note was her father’s.

\----

“So you’re saying our parents helped cast Clary’s curse?” Jace demanded.

Isabelle had gathered her brothers and brought them back to her room. Jace and Isabelle were crossed-leg on her bed whilst Alec stood, his brow furrowed.

He always liked to stand when he was hearing distressing news, she reckoned it made him feel stable and more in control.

“Why else would this be in Dad’s handwriting?” Isabelle pointed out, waving the post-it at him.

“We don’t even know if that’s about the curse,” Alec interjected, “It could be about trying to find Jocelyn’s whereabouts.”

She shook her head, “I found separate reports on her disappearance on the main computers. This was in a box alongside the trial reports. It may well have been part of our parents’ punishment to fulfil this curse.”

“To turn Circle members against each other – to tear them apart once and for all,” Jace theorised, his voice grave, “That does sound like something the Clave would do.”

“So we ask them,” Alec said, insisting on being rational.

“Alec can’t you see?” Isabelle demanded, “Mom has been here from the moment I found Clary, if was planning on telling us anything, she would have by now. Plus, she’s been awfully insistent on trying to keep me away from investigating this case.”

 Jace shifted uncomfortably. “That’s just Mom being Mom though.”

“Perhaps,” Isabelle conceded, “but we still can’t trust them. I’m not saying that our parents are the enemy, I’m just suggesting that perhaps the Clave has them in a tough position here.”

“What do you mean?”

Isabelle explained, “So let’s say enacting the curse was part of their punishment for being in the Circle. That would mean that the Clave would have to have _something_ on them to make sure they do it right. And that _something_ may still be a bargaining chip today.”

“So even if they wanted to,” Alec concluded for her, “they couldn’t help us.”

“Well, that’s the optimistic story,” Isabelle said, “it could just be our parents putting the Clave’s interests before others as per usu-“

“Alright, Izzy,” Alec scolded.

“The only way to find out the truth is to find this ‘An Hart’ person,” Jace said firmly, “Then we find out exactly what part our parent’s had to play in this. But for now, we shouldn’t say anything – not until we know for sure.”

Alec and Isabelle nodded in agreement.

“Except, Magnus, right?” Alec asked suddenly, “’Cause we need his help finding An Hart.”

Jace rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can tell your boyfriend.”

“He’s part of the mission, Jace,” Alec replied.

Choosing to ignore this comment, Jace teased, “And here I thought you were the one who was always telling us not to let emotions distract us.”

“Izzy,” Alec pleaded, turning to his sister, “can you kill him for me?”

She raised an eyebrow, “Why can’t you?”

“Feels kinda wrong since my parabatai and all,” he said with a shrug.

Crossing his arms, Jace asked, “Did you forget the part of being parabatai which means when I die, you suffer?”

Alec paused. And then he said, “I feel like it’s worth it.”

Isabelle laughed as Jace looked mock-offended, hand over his heart. “How could you, brother?”

In return, Alec sent him a toothy grin.

\----

“I miss drawing,” Clary told her that night, fiddling with her fingers as if they itched to create.

Isabelle frowned, desperately wanting to help but not knowing how. She settled on asking, “If you could draw something, what would it be?”

“Probably your runes,” she answered, “It would be nice to get more in touch with my Shadowhunter-ness.” She moved to settle closer in front of Isabelle, tracing the air above one of the runes which stretches across her arm. “I would draw all of them in a circle, connect each one with the other. They always say that circles are the strongest shape.”

“Infinite,” Isabelle said, agreeing.

Clary’s fingers brushed away the hair which draped across Isabelle’s shoulder, admiring the deflect rune on her neck. “I like this one the most,” she told her and Isabelle felt her breath hitch as Clary’s fingers finally made contact – tracing her neck.

It was far too intimate.

“I can see it in my mind,” Clary hummed, “the circle of runes. I’d probably use watercolours to give it some-“

Isabelle’s gasp cut Clary off. Behind the red-head a blank canvas seemed to appear, a set of watercolours and brushes set beside it.

Clary followed Isabelle’s gaze and mimics her sound of surprise. “Is it real?” she asked quietly.

“It’s _your_ dream, Clary. You tell me.”

And with that, Clary was on her feet and heading over the canvas. Isabelle watched as she gently placed on her hand on it and brushed her fingers against the paint-brushes. She looked back over her shoulder to Isabelle, sending her ecstatic smile which made Isabelle’s heart skip a beat.

“It’s real,” she breathed.

“Then I guess you should start painting.”

\----

Isabelle didn’t know how long she had been watching Clary paint, all that she knew was that she was entranced – with the way she held the brush in her fingertips, the way she bit her lip in concentration and the way her eyes roamed around Isabelle’s skin, making sure that the runes she was drawing were perfect.

Every time Clary’s eyes met hers, something twinged in Isabelle’s stomach – a growing nervousness at how fond she now was of the Shadow World’s Sleeping Beauty. Isabelle wasn’t one to judge unorthodox relationships but having a crush on her patient definitely seemed to be toing the line.

And anyway, hadn’t she promised herself that she would take a break from dating since splitting with Meliorn? She _had_ only broken up with him because she wanted some time to find herself and she had been – until Clary came along and turned her world upside-down.

Isabelle tried to shake the thought of having feelings for Clary out of her mind. She still only slightly knew her (though having a mental bond with someone did help with breaking the ice) and it was probably just a product of the fact that Isabelle hadn’t been with a woman for a while and Clary was _quite_ the woman.

Yet, her traitorous mind remembered how Magnus described falling for Alec; how from their very first meeting, something in Magnus _knew_. But Alec and Magnus were a rare case – she’d never seen anyone in love like they were, it was never something that Isabelle imagined she could have for herself.

“Izzy?” Clary asked, interrupting her train of thought.

She jumped, “Y-Yes?”

“I was just wondering what the name of this rune was?”

\----

Magnus arrived at the Institute the following afternoon, complaining about the hot New York weather after having just completed a job in Norway. Que Alec ramping up the AC to accommodate for his over-dramatic boyfriend so all the Shadowhunters in New York could freeze to death.

“I’m serious, Alec,” Isabelle snapped, “Magnus is a big boy and doesn’t need the Institute to be _this_ cold.”

“I quite enjoy being pampered,” Magnus pointed out and Alec shrugged as if to say, ‘See? What else can I do?’

She rolled her eyes and handed Magnus the post-it note, explaining where she found it and her suspicions on their identity.

Mid-explanation, Magnus held up his hand and said, “I know who this is.”

“You do?” she asked excitedly.

“Well…” he hummed, “I know-ish.”

“Ish?” Alec inquired.

“Around the time Valentine started coming for warlocks,” Magnus began, “I remember a young warlock who called himself ‘the Heart’ began recruiting other Downworlders to build an anti-Clave army. He wasn’t very successful – only managed to get a few of his friends but they broke into the Miami Institute and caused havoc. They all got caught and I’d never heard of them since.”

“So you reckon this ‘Heart’ person could be A. Hart?” Alec asked.

He shrugged, “It’s my best guess. If he was in trouble with the Clave, it might have been his only option for freedom.”

Isabelle nodded slowly. “So how do we find him?”

“I would suggest pulling out all of your Downworlder contacts,” he told her, “and search every club, bar, bookshop and café until you can find someone who knows him.”  

“So nothing too difficult then,” Jace concluded, who was by the weapons rack, wiping down some well-loved blades.

\----

Isabelle was exhausted.

In all of her years she would have never expected to have gotten bored of the excuse to attend Downworlder raves and parties under the lieu of work. Yet, there she was, sat upon a stool listening to a vampire drone on and on about how clubs had become boring since the invention of the mobile phone. Isabelle didn’t see the connection but she nodded along anyway.

This vampire, Francesca, was Isabelle’s best lead after weeks of grilling Downworlders about ‘The Heart’. In the times of their target’s infamy Francesca had been renting Downworlder-only rooms in Miami only but had stopped selling them shortly after ‘The Heart’ disappeared.

It was a leap to suppose Francesca might have been renting rooms to him and his allies – thus why she had to shut it down – but at this point Isabelle didn’t have anything better.

“Don’t you just agree that people should just learn to experience the world better?” Francesca asked her.

She put on her enthusiastic expression and said, “Absolutely! Not enough people get that around here, that’s why when I transfer to the Miami Institute I’ll live off-site so I can really _experience_ it.”

“Why Miami?” Francesca asked innocently enough but Isabelle had seen how Francesca’s hand tightened on her glass.

Isabelle gave a shrug. “I’ve heard great things about it.” She paused. “Have you ever visited Miami? I heard that there’s a strong Downworlder community down there. Lots of Downworlder property and things like that.”

Francesca had narrowed her eyes, scanning Isabelle with apprehension. “What do you want?”

Isabelle grinned, glad that thing were finally moving in the right direction. “Take a wild guess.”

The vampire’s jaw tightened. “I told the Clave I wouldn’t tell anyone anything,” she hissed, “and I _haven’t_. So you can tell them that, Shadowhunter.”

Isabelle breathed out a laugh. If Francesca believed that Isabelle was working with the Clave this would be easier than she thought.

“We don’t mean to offend,” Isabelle told her, putting on her best impression of her mother, “but in light of the Fairchild girl returning to us – we need to make sure all of our loose ends are tied up. And that includes you.”

“Well you have your information, so you can return to your Institute safe and sound,” Francesca bit, though the malice in it was weak, her hands were shaking.

Isabelle froze. She had frightened her.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately said, “I’m sorry, I lied to you, I’m not with the Clave, please don’t be scared. I won’t hurt you.”

The vampire’s eyes widened. “What kind of Shadowhunter _isn’t_ with the Clave?” she demanded. 

“One who doesn’t think the way they view the world is correct; a Shadowhunter who wants to see change,” she replied. “They cursed Clary for crimes that weren’t hers and I want to save her but I need to find ‘The Heart’ to do so.”

Francesca’s tense posture relaxed by a fraction, her expression was no longer suspicious but weary. “Either way, I can’t help you. The Clave will be far more forgiving to you than they will me.”

“They’ll never know,” Isabelle insisted, “I’m friends with Magnus Bane. I can find you protection. I even know Luke Garroway if you don’t mind hanging out with some werewolves.”

She paused, assessing Isabelle and trying to find anything but truth in her eyes. “Why should I trust you?”

Isabelle told her, “I can only offer you my word, from one woman to another.”

\----

Francesca was sitting nervously on one of Magnus’ plush armchairs, a drink in hand. In the distance his voice echoed from his study where he was making a phone to call to his old friend Raphael to try and secure Francesca protection within the New York vampire clan.

“You want to know about Andrick, then?” she asked Isabelle.

“Was that his real name then?”

She nodded, her expression wistful. “Andrick Hart. He was my adopted nephew. He was abandoned at birth by his mother and my brother took him in. Andrick had only been alive sixty years when Valentine killed my brother and after that he was never quite the same.”

“Is that why he attacked the Miami Institute?”

Francesca sighed. “Yes. He blamed the Shadowhunters for ignoring the crimes of their own kind. He came to me a few days before and asked for one of my spare rooms – and he was my nephew, so who was I do deny him? When I heard what he’d done I fled to New York but the Clave found me anyway. They stripped me of all my properties and forced me exile my own nephew.”

Isabelle’s eyes widened, she had known the Clave to be cruel but the extent of their cruelty still surprised her. “He’s _exiled_?”

“Yes and No.” Upon noticing Isabelle’s confusion, she explained, “I couldn’t bear to exile him so instead I placed a spell upon him which makes him untraceable by any magical means so that he may live in any country he wished without fearing the Clave. But Andrick was so weighed down by the guilt of cursing an innocent child that he took himself into isolation and hasn’t been seen since.”

“Untraceable… So I won’t be able to find him?” Isabelle asked.

Francesca shook her head. “Not by any magical means.”

The disappointment slammed into her – endless nights searching for any trace of Andrick all for nothing. All for the knowledge that she may never find the warlock who cursed Clary.

“Well, that's a certainly large loophole,” a voice sung from the doorway. The women turned to find Magnus leaning against the doorframe of his study. “Don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Isabelle asked.

“Let’s see, he is a man  consumed with guilt over a curse that he _knows_ will be enacted on the child's eighteenth birthday. Well, if _I_ was that man, I’d probably be keeping tabs on the whole affair – either through a bad case of masochism or in the hope of saving her.”

Francesca frowned, “You sound so sure.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he admitted, “but isn’t this better than accepting defeat?”

“So how do we contact him?” Isabelle asked, immediately on board, “I’ve made enough noise among the Downworlder community and he hasn’t reached out. What more can I do?”

“You’re a Shadowhunter, Isabelle,” Magnus pointed out, “He’d never trust you.”

The vampire, who had been nervously tugging at a loose thread, snapped her head up to look at Magnus. “But he’d trust me.”

Magnus clapped his hands together, “And the penny drops.”

\----

When Isabelle dreamt that night Clary was exactly where she left her – her brush poised to paint another stroke on the canvas. She turned to Isabelle, slightly startled and said, “That felt much quicker.”

“It’s actually been longer than usual,” she told her, settling on the sofa Clary had dreamt up, “So maybe you’re just getting used to it.”

She shrugged, accepting Isabelle’s logic. She _was_ the scientist out of the two though she didn’t know just how qualified that made her in curses. Isabelle smiled as Clary turned back to her painting, warmth blossomed in her chest at their casual comfort with one another.

Isabelle was in too deep, she knew this, but was in blissful denial. Clary was sunlight which brightened up whatever miserable day she had with her eternal optimism and fight. Even when Isabelle had been tearing her hair out, with nothing to offer Clary in means of a cure, Clary was comforting.

She had told her, “I know you’re doing your best, Izzy. This isn’t your fault.”

Isabelle was under the impression that Clary didn’t value her safety as much as others, and that had it been her mother, for example, under a sleeping curse, she would not be as accommodating.

This night was different than the ones before. Clary seemed to notice Isabelle’s improved mood, raising an eyebrow as Isabelle lounged in the sofa, grinning up at her companion.

“Alright, I bite. What is it?” the redhead asked her.

Isabelle’s grin was all teeth, victorious like a lion after the kill. “His name is Andrick Hart, not 'An' Hart and his aunt is going to get him for us.”

Clary looked impressed, trying and failing to hide her excitement. “It’s that easy, huh?”

She gave a blasé shrug, “It took a big of persuasion.”

“I bet you’re good at that,” Clary teased, a glint in her eyes.

“Oh?” she asked, “And why do you think that?”

Clary gave her a look. “C’mon, Izzy. With a body like yours, you could convince angels to give you their wings."

Isabelle laughed and leaned forward, resting her elbow on her leg and her chin on her fist. “Interesting. So have you made these deductions through careful study or is it just that plain to see?” she drawled, grinning at the way Clary’s cheeks flushed.

“I-I mean, I _did_ paint you,” Clary replied, not quite avoiding Isabelle’s insinuations but not quite addressing them either.

She admitted, “I suppose that’s true.” Isabelle leaned back again, settling into the sofa. Her heart thrummed with the thrill of flirting, and skipped at the nervous yet pleased smile Clary was trying to hide.

Perhaps it wasn’t such a lost cause after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Let me know in the comments and come talk to me on [ my tumblr! ](http://beautifulwarlock.tumblr.com/)


End file.
